


circles, crosses, heart shapes

by pikwanchu



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M, This starts slow but i promise to god it picks up the pace as it goes, Yuta and taeil are mentioned briefly, also jaehyun is the actual mvp here, dammmmn rose back at it again with the boring stories, idc if this meme is outdated, right also yukhei and renjun are mentioned but veeery briefly, theres also doten but uhhhhhh something....happens...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:13:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikwanchu/pseuds/pikwanchu
Summary: Sicheng may have it a little too bad for the boy that plays tic-tac-toe with him on the library.





	circles, crosses, heart shapes

Sicheng’s frown is barely evident, hidden by the chestnut of his fringe, as the television in his mind struggles to follow the scene he’s reading. Sicheng likes to conjure every detail he can, his imagination fills the voids. 

For example, although the book doesn’t say it, he likes to imagine that the girl’s shirt is baggy (since he remembers she has issues about her weight), and that she has long eyelashes that join together when she squints her eyes at the male character. He makes it as vivid as he can, and he can almost feel the cold concrete of the bench they are sitting on.

Then, the noise of a paper being hauled to his side of the table interrupts him, the transmission cutting momentarily as he blinks twice. It’s not that it was dragged with particular violence or carelessness, it’s just that the library is very, very quiet. Especially at this time, it’s around nine p.m.

He bites his lower lip as he pulls the book closer to his face, nose almost touching the middle where the slightly yellowed pages join. He hides, he wants to look as if he is still in deep focus, as if he hadn’t heard the noise at all.

After some prudent minutes go by (the ones that seem enough to look non-desperate) he peeks from above, big eyes inspecting the almost empty room in a rush until they fall on the boy on his right side. He is, as always, very focused, and his frown is very apparent, because his charcoal hair isn’t there to cover it. It goes mostly in every direction, product of being pulled either in stress or despair or just tiredness, and maybe that’s a streak of yellow highlighter in his forehead? He always has an uncapped highlighter hanging from between his fingers.

Still, he looks incredibly handsome, his small nose is highlighted by the yellowish lights in the room, and his lips look red, full, healthy, as if he had just eaten a bunch of strawberries. He is wearing a loose white button up, and even like that the fact that his shoulders are big is there, hinted. Sicheng likes that he is always so concentrated, he gets to examine him a lot.

Finally, Sicheng’s feline eyes fall on the paper, and he makes a show of sighing and leaving the book upside down on the table, as not to lose the place where he left off.

He smirks to himself as he looks it. As always, the boy chooses to go with crosses, and as always, he doesn’t choose the space in the middle. Sicheng doesn’t want to look too much into it, but he can’t help to wonder if the boy likes making things hard for himself on purpose.

He fishes his pen from the pocket of his Adidas pants and draws a carefully careless circle in the middle, and leaves the page back on the table, in the middle of both of them, as he braces himself for a long 15-minute wait until he gets it back.

Unlike Sicheng, he isn’t there to have fun or pass the time, he’s always studying, and the only other two games of tic-tac-toe finished in the page tell so. Two games, three with the one on-going, in about almost two hours is not a lot if you’re there just to read a book, like Sicheng.

So, he tries to go back to the scene, the cold concrete, the baggy shirt, the long lashes. He adds a bit of wind to the scene, as he starts reading the words again.

It has been four... maybe five weeks? Since they started doing this. But it had been about three months Sicheng has been sitting in the same spot every time he went there, that happened to be only one seat apart from him. Sicheng doesn’t know his age, or what he studies, not even his name, because he has never talked to him. He just remembers that one particular day that he couldn’t focus well (dance practice had left him terribly tired, but he  _ needed  _ to finish that book asap) he had mindlessly drawn a grid on a random, forgotten page that had been laying there, and played against himself one, two, five, ten times, and then left one mid-way when he had finally decided to go back to the last chapter (always the most painful one).

Then, he had heard the paper rustle, and when he looked back to it, the game had been continued by a black tint that stood out against his blue scratches.

Ever since, it was like a silent agreement. He is always there, in the same spot, whenever he arrived to the library, and there is always a torn out page with a tic-tac-toe grid waiting for him.

It’s a simple interaction, nothing special; it really shouldn’t make his heart beat like this. But it does, and he can’t help it.

He is jotted out of his thoughts by the sound of paper, again, and out of startle, he instantly reaches out to grab it. But aside from the ruggy texture of the paper, his fingers also find other one’s .

He gasps and looks up, pulling his hand back like the boy’s hand was electrified (maybe it was, judging by the spark he felt), and he finds him smiling at him, lips stretched in a gentle way, and his heart almost can’t take it. His smile says ‘don’t worry’, and Sicheng tries to respond with one that hopefully doesn’t say ‘I’m affected’.

His eyes are sharp, but they round sweetly, Sicheng finds, as his very own find them, and they are very,  _ very _ dark, like black holes that pull him inside. And they would probably had, if it wasn’t for the sudden ring of the door bell.

Both of them suddenly detach, as a short boy walks in like a hurricane. His steps are loud, his posture is confident and his smile is bright, as he spots the boy besides him. In three steps he crosses the hall, and lets himself fall in the chair between them.

Sicheng instantly turns back again, his back is straight and stressed, and he hurries to grab his book again, hiding between the pages because he was taught he should mind his own business. The short one is like a wall between them, anyways, and he doesn’t want to catch the way he tangles his ankles around the taller’s, or the fact that both of them have matching bracelets hanging around their wrists.

He has seen this guy, the shorter one, many times before, always barging in and trying to pull the other one out of the place. He has (unwillingly, of course) heard propositions about parties, clubs, beers and soju (and nights together, and  _ netflix and chill, come on baby, just this once _ ), and the other one just refusing them. It was, most days, followed by some whining coming from the shorter, and after a while, him, leaving with a slight stomp on his feet. He can’t blame the taller, who the hell would want to go partying on a week day?

Maybe Sicheng is just not very fond of loud music outside of the dance studio, or a theater for that matter. As long as he’s the one performing, that is.

(Although the other propositions…)

The shorter’s intrusion never sits well on Sicheng, and this time isn’t an exception. The bubbly feeling that had started to boil in his tummy suddenly turned into concrete, and he decides that this is a perfect excuse to run away before he has to deal with the shorter trying to climb on the boy’s lap again.

Quickly and quietly, he stands up, rushes to the reception and leaves the book there (not before checking the number of the page he is at) and gives a short ‘thanks’ to the old lady in the desk.

He arrives to his shared apartment not even fifteen minutes later, in long steps.

“What’s wrong?”, Jaehyun asks, as he rushes to get off of his shoes, eyes never ungluing from the videogame.

“Nothing.”, Sicheng just says, “I’m off to bed.” (‘ _ turn down the noise _ ’, he means, ‘ _ and clean up after your mess _ .’)

“Alright,” his roommate says, “sleep well.”

Sicheng sighs once again, and he listens how the volume goes down by a few decibels. Jaehyun isn’t that bad, he’s just too loud.

“Thanks.”

It’s a few days later, Friday to be exact, and Sicheng is starting a new book. It’s from the same author, Murakami, who was introduced to him by Jaehyun’s friend, Yuta. He is a cool guy, but maybe too enthusiastic about making friends and very loud when he, Johnny and Taeil come to their apartment to play videogames and drink with Jaehyun. 

He leans back, getting more comfortable in one of the semi recliners that the place offers. Sicheng is just glad that his roommate’s college’s library is close-by; it’s so big and comfortable, with soft chairs and bean bags everywhere, and windows that probably let through a lot of light. He just guesses this last part, because he always comes by after six or seven p.m., since the rest of the days is trapped in his dance studio.

He’s also glad that they never check if he’s an actual student of the college, because he would get kicked out in an instant. He has thought of asking Jaehyun to lend him his college pass, just in case that ever happens, but then again, it could get him in trouble. After all, Jaehyun is very pale, and handsome, and has small eyes that crinkle when he smiles like in his picture, while Sicheng is on the skinnier side, tan and with plump lips that betray him whenever he needs them to cooperate with his lies.

So he guesses that he’ll go with the flow as long as he can, and he hopes the ‘long’ part is very long, since he doesn’t think he can find anywhere else to retreat when his home is full of loud, rowdy boys.

However, today it’s kind of weird. Doyoung isn’t there.

For the first minutes, Sicheng tries to act as if he doesn’t mind. He just picks his book, sits on his chair, tries to get comfortable and focused. But obviously, it doesn’t work. He is just too aware of the emptiness on his side. He has never noticed, but having the other boy on his side makes him feel less lonely, as if he had been replaced by a whoosh of winter air that makes his skin crawl for no reason.

But then, about half an hour later, maybe? He sees him walk in in hurried steps, papers, hair and jacket flying everywhere. He sits down, and in nervous movements puts everything he’d need in place, knocking over things as he orders others. Sicheng bites his lip and wonders what was going on with him. As far as he had seen, the boy tends to be calmer; his moves seem to be thought out. This was very unlike him.

And just like that, the other falls into deep concentration, or so he looks like. But Sicheng still eyes him taking his hand to his mouth, furiously biting a meticulously cut nail. It’s the first time Sicheng sees him doing this as well.

Even if he tries, it’s impossible for him to go back to his book. He looks around, as if he would find a way to concentrate like that, but then, he realizes something is missing.

The page, of course.

He wonders if the other had gotten tired of it, if he simply didn’t have time that day for their silly games. The thought makes something hurt a little on his chest, and he chews on his lip to erase the thought.

Maybe he should take action himself. Yes, he should.

His hand reaches sneakily into the bag that leant on his chair, the one that had the stylish design that he took everywhere, and pats until he feels the soft leather of his diary. Soon enough, there’s a fresh grid waiting to be played on, and he slides the page on its usual place.

Somehow, he accidentally makes more noise than he should when the paper gets caught in one of his many rings, and he shakes his hand to free it. The other’s eyes suddenly look up, and he is caught red-handed.

Sicheng swallows as if it helped fight the red that is warming up his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, but he decides to give it up once he sees the tips of those cherry lips turning upwards.

His smile is so gentle. He seems so gentle.

Sicheng hurries to get back to his book, and he hears the paper being taken and left back again. He won’t allow himself to take his turn until he is _ sure _ his face is back to normal. Then, he picks it for himself and makes sure to draw another carefully careless circle.

His hand is midway putting back the paper when the door slams open.

Everyone’s head (everyone as in, the library lady, the two other strangers, the boy and himself) whip toward the noise, only to find a short figure walking in in furious steps and full on clubbing attire. There’s a loose black shirt hanging from his shoulders, sparkling, and the holes in his skinny jeans allow to see smooth golden skin through. Sicheng sees the lights of the library shine on his silver cross earring, one of his many, and the anger in his face is so apparent that Sicheng himself gets nervous.

“So you think you can just escape an argument like this? You think you can hide in your precious library, huh Doyoung?”

Doyoung (so, that’s his name?) squints in a way that makes Sicheng want to pat his shoulder, tired, and abandons his highlighter and photocopies, along with his will to study, as he turns to him. “Ten, you’re being loud.”

“Do you think I care, Kim Dongyoung? It’s the fifth time you cancel on me. Fifth! In three weeks!”

“You know my finals are coming-“

“Yeah I know, so what? Mine too. You don’t even need to be spending all this time here. Why don’t you study at home? What’s here that our place doesn’t have?!”

Sicheng gulps, and suddenly feels like running away. His skin itches in discomfort, he hates it when people fight around him, especially people he doesn’t know.

He sees the other throw a short glance in his direction, but it's not long enough to decipher what it means. He is probably as uncomfortable as he is.

“I’ve told you a million times- No, don’t start again, we are in a library, can’t you wait till I go back home?”

It takes Sicheng only a rushed peek to see the shorter, and he is the pure image of fury. His chest raises up and down, breaths deep and burning, his lower lip is chewed, and his teeth are grinded. He looks at Doyoung like he wants to jump on him, push him, shout at him, but he just stays there, nostrils flaring and fire in his eyes.

“You know what I’ll do? I’ll go to the stupid club.”, he suddenly says, voice surprisingly more quiet, but the venom it spills can be felt even by Sicheng, “I’ll go to that fucking club tonight, and I won’t go back home. I don’t want this, anymore. I’m sick of being the only one that wants this dumb relationship to work.” there’s a thickening in his voice, and his nose and eyes begin tinting in a soft red, “I am done. We are done.”

Doyoung, on his side, looks like a strange mixture of surprise, understanding, acceptance and sadness. Yet, he doesn’t say anything.

Ten, the short one, balls his hands into fists one last time before heavy, angry steps guide him outside, but before he can reach the door, Sicheng sees Doyoung running to him.

“Ten...”, he stops him, turning him with one hand on his shoulder.

“Leave me alone.”, he shakes the hand off, violently, “You’re a coward, you know that? If you wanted to break up with me, you should have said it on your own.”

Doyoung stares at him in silence. Ten doesn’t lower his eyes, prideful nose upturned, and lips thin in anger.

“J-just... Don’t drink tonight, okay?”

Ten glares at him one last time, saying something between teeth, and he finally leaves.

As soon as the door closes, it’s like everyone sighs collectively. Doyoung bows low, many, many times as a waterfall of  _ I’m sorry _ ’s fall from his lips on every direction. Finally, he goes back to their table and lands on the chair with a heavy sigh.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sicheng sees him pawing at his hair, pulling slightly, and massaging his forehead. After some minutes, he hears one last heavy sigh, and, to his surprise, the paper being taken.

When Sicheng finally has the opportunity to take it back, he does it without thinking. He eyes the game, but the pen in his hand is hesitating. He feels bad, he wants to do something. He wants to comfort him and maybe pat his shoulder. In an ideal scenario, he gives him a hug.

But he ends up filling a space with a circle. And on the side, a carefully written  _ ‘you okay?’ _

There is no possible way for him to go back to his reading, but he still uses the book as a cover, he doesn’t want to look as anxious as he is, yet at the same time, he wants him to know he is. It’s more like it’s not his place to be anxious about him, they aren’t friends. They aren’t  even ‘someone I know’s. Yet, he just can’t help to care.

Doyoung takes the paper.

When he looks at it, he instantly turns to Sicheng, and that’s when Sicheng realizes he was staring. But he doesn’t have time to feel shy or embarrassed, because he is too worried frowning at the sadness that there is in the other’s eyes as he looks at him. Sicheng swallows, Doyoung takes his pen.

Sicheng’s eyes fall on his book as he waits, and he sees the paper being slid directly to his side.

_ ‘yes :) _

_ im sorry for making a scene’ _

Sicheng frowns ( _ why is he so apologetic? It wasn't his fault) _ , but before he can say anything, he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. He stands up and goes answer outside, only to hear Jaehyun’s pitiful voice. He’s been sick since yesterday, a high fever and a very annoying cold, and he just accidentally locked himself out of the place when he went to the convenience store to get himself some aspirins and chicken soup. He sighs, and reminds himself of the time he had to rest his ankle, and how his roommate was so helpful and nice to him, and wills himself into returning the favor.

He cuts the call with the promise of being there shortly, and runs back inside. As he hangs his bag across his chest, he takes the paper one last time.

_ ‘don’t worry :) _

_ take care’ _

And he leaves it on his side, as the older looks up at him. Sicheng bows a little, and runs.

The next times Sicheng sees him, he has eye bags, they are a mix of faint purples and greens, product of endless nights of thinking and overthinking. Doyoung sighs as he reads, his eyes sometimes suddenly falling and going back up, as if he was reminding himself of stop being in his head and pay attention to the thick book in his hands. He skims through pages back and forth, as if he had forgotten what he had just read.

Sicheng observes, curious, because these are habits he had never seen him doing before, and he wonders if they are because of the short guy.

Yet, even being all over the place like that, there’s still always a paper and a grid waiting for Sicheng whenever he arrives.

One day, the eye bags are finally completely gone.

Life continues.

Tuesday afternoons are nothing special. Nothing exciting ever happens a Tuesday, not that Sicheng likes exciting things. Or maybe it’s more like, the things he finds exciting most people would find boring. To him, all the grand jetés in Conrad’s variation are exciting, Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture is exciting, getting the big bouquets after his performances is exciting. He wouldn’t call himself boring, though. Maybe old fashioned. Maybe differently experienced? He hopes it’s a dancer’s thing.

It was only fitting that he found himself in a boring chapter in the book he was currently reading. It’s kind of tiring how this author in particular likes to stop in every detail, every button, every texture she’s describing. It’s like she’s in love with her own character. Sicheng thinks he kind of prefers imagining those things himself. Maybe it's just him.

Even Doyoung, next to him, seemed to be bored as well. Eyes fighting to stay open, highlighter marks all over his fingers, doodles around the words in his notes. He sees him yawn and grab their paper, and Sicheng yawns as well.

When he gets the paper back, though, there’s something written.

_ ‘do you like chocolate?’ _

Sicheng’s lips tug from one side, and his heartbeat speeds up just a little.

_ ‘who doesn’t?’ _ , he writes at first, but then scratches that and opts for a _ ‘yeah :)’,  _ instead.

He takes a long look at the cloud of ink he made over his former words, making sure it’s not readable, and slips it back.

It’s not even five minutes later that he hears the rustle of a different type of paper, and he looks out of his book only to see a big bar of chocolate opened between them.

The older (because Sicheng is fairly sure Doyoung is older) is already nibbling on a square of the candy, the book again on his hands, and there are three or four more cleanly cut and laid on the wrapper. Sicheng understands that it’s for him to grab, but he can’t really believe it. What if he got it wrong? Would it be absurd to think that maybe he was just asking out of curiosity?

Doyoung suddenly catches his doubt out of the corner of his eye, and smiles a little.

“Here.”, he pushes the bar closer to Sicheng, “Have some.”

Shyly, his hand reaches out and he takes a small piece. He catches the way Doyoung’s eyes look at him doing that, but they are quick to sink back into his work. The chocolate tastes great in his mouth, not bitter but not overly sweet. Without meaning it, he finishes it too fast, and he gets slightly upset because he was not careful enough to taste it some more.

Doyoung picks the page and writes his cross, and when Sicheng gets it back, it says:

_ ‘you can have more if you want’ _

Sicheng tries not to smile, because there’s really no reason for him to want to smile, and reaches out again, this time more confident, and grabs another piece.

As he puts it between his lips, munching softly from one corner, he looks to his right, and sure enough, the older was staring back. There’s a second of surprise, because he was mirroring him almost to perfection, and then, he lets out a small giggle.

It’s pretty, really pretty, his eyes crinkle and his gums show, and Sicheng can’t help to giggle back, shoulders shrugging slightly.

“Thanks.”, Sicheng finally says, and they are back into their own worlds, still connected by the chocolate and the piece of paper.

Sicheng wins the game.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, and although it’s rare for Sicheng to be on a Thursday (because practices usually go all through until eight thirty), his teacher had a concert, so she let them leave early in exchange of some hundreds of repetitions of plies and arabesques.

“You go quite a lot to that library, huh?”, Jaehyun mentions, as he’s about to head out. He had just popped by to get a quick shower and some cereal bars into his system.

“I like it there”, he simply answers, as he is slipping inside his tired red converses.

“It’s not... Uh, it’s not because of me, is it?”

Sicheng looks at him in confusion, and he sees the blonde scratching the back of his neck, awkwardly, but there’s genuine concern in his face. His roots are starting to show, and his pale skin seems to glow under the red oversized football shirt he’s wearing.

“I mean... You’re not mad or something, right? Did I do something wrong?”

Sicheng smiles, because no, Jaehyun is not a bad roommate at all.

“No, I just like it in there.”, Sicheng answers with a small smile, his voice is quiet but he tries his best to sound reassuring. As he says goodbye, he decides he’ll bring gimbaps for the both of them from the convenience store when he comes back. Jaehyun really likes those, if he recalls well.

He throws his bag on the side of the comfortable chair and leans back as soon as he enters the library. He tenses the muscles in his legs and lets go after a while, letting them relax properly. He loved the softness of the cushions on the chairs, although maybe they should be called sofas, since they are closer to that than to an actual chair. 

He’s not surprised to find he, Doyoung, isn’t there yet, since it’s almost two hours before he usually arrives. He sighs, partially because it’s weird without him on his side, and partially because he has to get up to pick a book. Sicheng hasn’t finished yet the one he’s been reading this week, but he’s decided that it is too boring for his taste; the characters are too flat, the plot goes too slow.

After some minutes, he finally gains the courage to get up and walk all the way to the Chinese section of the library. When he arrives, there’s a guy with purple hair about his height. They eye each other for a second, and nod in brief recognition, and the other’s eyes are back on the shelf he had been inspecting.

The section is quite big, bigger than he had ever imagined when he first came there. He guesses there must be a lot of Chinese students in the college, since there’s a section with several copies of textbooks in mandarin. It’s almost always on the emptier side, but Sicheng doesn’t really mind, he doesn’t really care about them.

He bends a little until he finds the fiction section, and his finger runs until he finds a title that calls his attention, and he picks it. He does a quick read over of the blurb and decides it’s good enough.

He doesn’t always read books in his native language; Sicheng already considers himself fluent enough to read in Korean as well. He has been living in Seoul for a year now, only recently having moved to where he lives now, but even back in high school, he didn’t have much problem with Korean as a subject. The only problem is that his vocabulary is still very limited; it is almost mandatory for him to have his phone fully charged and ready to look up pretty much anything. If the dictionary doesn’t really work, he has to end up sending a quick message to Jaehyun... which can be replied in either seconds or three hours, there’s no in-between.

Sicheng finally sits down, but something feels missing. He doesn’t really catch what exactly, but he can’t shake off the feeling. Maybe it was just Doyoung’s calming presence next to him. He feels his cheeks warm at the thought; he couldn’t possibly have such a heavy crush, could he?

He shakes off the thought and wills himself to open the book and sink into the story without further delay.

Soon, the mundane setting of the library is far, far away, changed by the enormous gardens and the millions of flowers that blanket them. He can almost feel the breeze that messes the protagonist’s hair, and the hesitation of the male lead when he wonders if it’s okay to take her hand in his. Maybe it hits home too close, the way he wants to get closer, the way he thinks of her every single moment, the way he imagines himself holding her under his embrace. The way he wants to mend her broken heart.

Sicheng finds himself reading faster, he needs to know they will get together. It’s a bit annoying, because he chose this book not for the romance, but because of the action it promised. The love bits were supposed to be a side dish, but now he’s almost skimming over words, hating himself for it because he can’t really take in the story when he does that, but he wants more of them.

Some chapters later, he finds himself somewhat satisfied. He finally gets enough courage to confess to her, and she likes him too. It was obvious for Sicheng, she was entirely his when she was around him. Still, he held his breath as he was reading the confession, almost as if it was himself the one that was confessing.

It could very well be him.

It’s not intentional, but his mind works on its own, and before he can stop it, he’s already picturing it; how it would be if it was him. Them. 

If he could choose, he wouldn’t like it to be in a cheesy way, like the ones he always reads. Maybe a straight up ‘I like you’ would be the best. Or maybe asking for a date, maybe a coffee or an ice cream?

And now he wonders about him as a boyfriend.

There are two of his classmates that are dating each other; Sicheng wasn’t told, of course, he figured out. It was in the way they looked at each other, like they were having whole conversations, like they were keeping a secret, like they were sharing an inside joke.

He’s also caught them holding hands after class, whenever Sicheng lingers too long, making sure his shoes are properly tied and kept in his backpack, checking twice he isn’t forgetting anything (he can be slightly forgetful, you see. Or more like distracted. Maybe a bit of both). It’s always one of them sinking their hand into the other’s coat pocket. He’s also caught a quick peck on the lips, he thinks, he’s not sure. It was kind of dark, and it could have been just the angle.

He thinks it’s kind of sad that they don’t do that kind of things in public.

He wonders if Doyoung was the type of boyfriend that would introduce him as a friend or as a lover. He wonders if Doyoung would hold his hand while walking around the city. He wonders how it feels to hold his hand, or how it would feel if he brushed his bangs off of his face.

A bit on accident, a bit on purpose, he indulges in those thoughts, like he does when he reads a book. 

It’s almost too clear in his mind, the wide eyed look he’d give him as he gets closer, the soft brush of his fingerpads barely touching his cheekbone, the gentle smile he’d give him after (it’s just like the one he gave him that one time), the uncomfortable warmth spreading along his cheeks. Oh, wait, that last one is real.

Suddenly, there’s the scrape of a chair that has Sicheng’s eyes opening in alarm, and when he looks to his side,  _ there he is _ .

“I’m sorry, you were sleeping?”, the older comments, as he passes the black strap of his bag off of his back, “You’re early today.”

Sicheng feels all of the words he’s ever learnt in every language ever suddenly disappearing from his mind, as his cheeks get redder and redder. 

“I-I’m fine,” Sicheng manages to say, with a small nod, and now he’s hidden in the security of the hundreds of hanzis on his book’s pages. Still, he manages to catch the polite smile Doyoung gives him before sitting, lips pressing together, corners tilting up in a way that reminds him of an emoji his sister always uses.

They fall into silence again. Sicheng mentally groans.

There’s a bitter feeling suddenly melting down Sicheng’s stomach, from his throat, making him feel ill and nauseous. It’s like he just realizes. Of course all of that could be real. Of course they could hold hands, brush their faces, kiss in the dark. If only Sicheng made a f-... A move. If only he would  _ talk  _ to him at least. Hi, I'm Sicheng. I want you to get to know me better. I want you to fall for me like I’ve accidentally fallen for you. 

How pathetic. He’s pathetic. 

The page appears before him, and for the first time, he doesn't really feel like playing.

Sicheng draws a circle and wishes he wasn't as coward as he is.

  
  


Sicheng does not go back to the library.

He decides that if it’s going to be this way, if he’s going to watch the days go by without being able to say anything, without gaining enough courage to at least say hi to him, he prefers to not see him at all. 

Turns out that just watching him is not enough for him anymore, not when his mind refuses to get back to its own business, gifting him with endless fantasies of what could happens.

He can’t bare them, and he can’t help indulging into them either. He’d call it self-infringed torture, if it wasn’t for the fact that those words sound too harsh. There is a slight pleasure in them, after all, while they last. But once he falls from his cloud, God, the concrete is just so hard.

So, Sicheng does not go back to the library. And he hates himself for it.

  
  


On Tuesday, his teacher calls him out in front of the entire group. She tells him to look less dead next class. Most of his classmates giggle. The nicer ones suppress a smile. Sicheng just nods fast, hair bouncing up and down, willing his eyes to focus only on the shoe he was untying.

He swallows a knot. 

  
  


On Friday, he’s lying on his bed and it’s not even seven p.m. The lights are off, and the house is quiet because Jaehyun is on a party across the building. 

Sicheng is invaded by the thought of Doyoung holding someone’s hand. Not his. Someone’s. Someone sitting on his lap in the library, someone making him laugh. Someone kissing him.

It is probably going to happen soon, he realizes, Doyoung finding someone new. 

The sudden pressure on his chest makes him want to cry.

 

It’s Sunday and it’s noisy, his little apartment. One would think that after more than a week of dealing with the way the boys laughed and yelled, Sicheng would get used to it. He doesn’t.

It’s not like he can go anywhere else, and he finds himself constantly wishing the four walls that protected him were rather thicker, so the noise would be a bit more muffled. 

He groans one more time, and decides to listen to some music, maybe he’ll find a new version of some symphony, or maybe an arrangement, or maybe he’ll just click whatever youtube kindly recommends him yet again (because that’s what he’s been doing these days). Lazily, he extends his hand and opens the drawer on his bedtable, looking for his headphones without even opening his eyes. After a few minutes of his hand aimlessly touching around, he realizes they are not there. 

Right, his bag. He left them in his bag. And his bag... in the living room.

He contemplates just staying in bed but soon his mind tries to force him back into the Doyoung-is-out-there-and-he’s-going-to-meet-someone-better-and-you-are-here-sitting-around-like-a-failure train of thoughts and the panic to deaf them with loud, resounding orchestras wins over the panic of having to give explanations about his current state to Jaehyun's friends.

“Heey, Sicheng! Long time no see!”, he is greeted by Yuta, now honey blonde haired, and he traps him under his constrictive arm. His stomach shrinks. Sicheng smiles at him and hopes it doesn’t look too forced. “How weird of you, not in that library of yours.”

Sicheng is sure his smile looks fake now, because it’s just him pressing his lips together. He nods once and escapes, almost running for his bag, and he’s about to get back into his cave, when he hears Jaehyun calling him out.

“Hey, Sicheng.”

He turns, and he’s a bit taken aback by the worry in his expression.

“Yes?”

“Are you, uh...?”, he starts, but ends up trailing off. “I mean, are you gonna have some, um, chips?”, he looks around and lifts the big bag up to his face.

Sicheng just shakes his head, a bit confused, “Thanks.”

“Okay.”, he hears him say, and he is finally in the safety of his room. 

Headphones on, lights off. Eyes closed. The knot in his throat is starting to untie. The angry creaks of the violins infiltrate into his brain and grow like plants, the imponent booms of tambors numb his thoughts, the insistent flutes distract him enough, and finally,  _ finally, _ he can’t pay attention to anything else.

This is good, for now. 

For now.

  
  


It’s a Sunday, again, when it’s not fine. The last time he got out of his dorm was on Friday night, and it was to get himself two big bottles of water and get ready to swallow in self-pity the whole weekend.

He can’t sleep because he came to the conclusion that the reason why he is so afraid of confessing to Doyoung is nothing else but the fear of being, you know, a nobody to him. Just a stranger to him. Just another random person that reads books and somehow manages to sit next to him every day, a badly drawn background character. Which is basically the big elephant in his mental room. Which is probably, actually, the truth.

He doesn’t want to confirm it, though. He really does not. 

He’d much rather live in the Schrodinger’s box that is his room, between what could be and couldn’t be, because the painful truth can be too much. He let this stupid crush grow too much and his feelings now suffocate him. It was his fault.

He’s a fool.

If it was someone else who was in his situation, he’d probably sneer at them and think they are being childish or too exaggerated. He’d probably think ‘all of that just for a simple crush?’. He’d think ‘they don’t even know them that well’. He’d think ‘this person is an idiot’.

He’s so ashamed, he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. So he does nothing.

 

On Monday he gets scorned again, by a different teacher this time. He wishes he had skipped class.

Sicheng looks at him, at the man in his shirt white and tight and strict, and then looks down at the floor again. It's something about him losing weight, losing muscle and strength, about coming early to the studio's gym to lift some weights and getting proteins inside of his body  _ or else _ .

Sicheng accepts it all with a nod, and thinks of how the hell he will do to swallow all of that with the tie that has his throat in constant constriction. 

He feels like crying again.

  
  
  


It’s Wednesday when Jaehyun bursts into his room. 

“Get dressed.”

Sicheng throws him a sidelong glance and turns around, facing the wall, covers moving along. 

“I said get dressed. Get dressed!”, Jaehyun’s voice gets louder and frustrated, “Come on, Sicheng, I’m fucking done seeing you like this. Are you dead? Are you a zombie!?”

Sicheng barely turns his head to him, and lets out a soft, “I’m fine.”

“No!”, there’s a noise of something being thrown, "You’re not! Stop saying that!”

The outburst makes him want to hide and he close his eyes, but he knows it will only make the situation worse. If he was less tired and dull, he'd be surprised at the situation, Jaehyun never loses his temper. Sicheng gives one last sigh, before finally sitting up.

There’s a heavy silence between them. His eyes fall on the floor, and he sees his backpack’s contents sprawled all over, his deodorant still rolling towards some corner of his room. Jaehyun is looking at him, chest falling up and down and his eyes alive in rage.

“What happened in the library?”, he finally asks, voice thin as a thread.

Sicheng feels his throat thicken.

“How do you know it was about the library?”, he gains the courage to ask.

“You went there every day. Then, suddenly you stop going and eating and sleeping and living.”, Jaehyun seems more calm, now, but the worry melting his anger makes Sicheng’s insides shrink in shame, “I might not be smart, but I’m not blind, Sicheng.”

“I...Um.”, he decides to start, but soon realizes how much of an idiot he will sound like. How dramatic. All of this just because some stupid crush. “I like someone. He goes to the library.”

He takes a cautionary stop, and Jaehyun just nods. A weight sinks the other side of his bed, and he sees the other sitting on the other side, legs wide apart and relaxed. 

“I’ve liked him for... A while.”, he feels his cheeks burn, “He’s really nice and smart. And attractive.”

He stops, but this time because he doesn’t know what to say next. He really is an idiot.

“And I’m probably nothing to him.”

Jaehyun waits one, two, three heartbeats before asking:

“Did he reject you?”

Sicheng sighs, and he is suddenly hugging his knees, hiding like a child, because he feels like one.

“No.”

“Then...?”

“I can’t even talk to him.”

Sicheng spies between his arms, and the other boy is looking forward, eyes unfocused, seeming to be processing what he said. He hides again, trying to brace himself for the taunting he’s about to suffer.

“But then, why did you stop...?”

“I don’t want to see him because it hurts too much.”, he blurts out, and it’s on same levels embarrassing and de-stressing to finally say it out loud. “He feels far, but he's right next to me. I’m..”, Sicheng pauses for a second, trying to find the right word, and his voice breaks when he finally says it, “I’m helpless.”

“Oh...”, Jaehyun nods, and some seconds go by. “But you didn’t ask him out.”

Sicheng sneers and he’s midway glaring at him, when he starts talking again. Doesn't he understand?

“You know, it’s kind of worse living like this, even if you don’t think so now.”, Sicheng looks at him, but Jaehyun is looking at somewhere in the front. “You can’t just wait for things to fade, like, you need a closure. If he rejects you... Well, it’ll be a bitch for some days, but at least you’ll be able to move on. And, you know, want to eat.”

“And there’s always the possibility that he actually likes you back, you know.”, he continues, after a pause, “I might not, uh, like guys, but I can tell you’re handsome. And if he likes guys he probably thinks that too.”

It's unintentional, but his words kind of get to him. Shyly, Sicheng lets his chin fall on his arms, still folded over his knees, “But...”

“Look, it’s uh...”, Jaehyun seems embarrassed for some seconds, but decides to continue, “It’s like basketball. In the last seconds of a tied game, for example.“ Sicheng sees him turning towards him, and his excitement seems to be growing with the confidence of his voice, “You might have the opportunity to score one more time, just barely on time, but you can’t give it much thought, right? I mean, sure, you might not score and get disappointed. But you could also score and save the whole game. Sometimes a whole season.”

He mentally rolls his eyes because that example is  _ so Jaehyun,  _ but, at the same time, if he takes a second to consider it, he... might have a point.

“And when you score, you feel like a king.”, he says, and there’s a bit of a shine in his eyes. Inside Sicheng there might also be a fluttery feeling. Jaehyun reaches out and punches his shoulder with a weak fist, “Just, you know, stop overthinking. You’ve done enough of that. Go there and  _ play _ ."

Sicheng groans and lifts himself on his knees for a second, only to fall face first to the mattress. “Okay.”, he mutters weakly, because he’s still not completely sure himself.

“Uh... Are you sure that’s an ‘okay’?”

He groans, “Yes.”

“Great, then. Get dressed, I’m fucking starving. We’re getting some meat, bitch.”

 

It doesn’t happen on Monday. It doesn’t happen on Tuesday (logically, because nothing happens on Tuesdays). It’s Wednesday when he is finally at the library’s entrance, and he pushes the door with resolution. It feels heavier than usual.

Sicheng is decided, or so he tells himself.

He needs to be decided. He needs to do this once and for all, for his own mental health. Besides, today it feels particularly different, in a good way. He woke up energized. His legs felt stronger in class earlier. He even took out his trash and ate a good breakfast. He hasn't felt like this for a million years, or so it feels.

Something  _ had _ to happen today.

His eyes scan the room, anxiously, the yellowed tables, the dark shelves, the last rays of sunshine tinting everything orange. And there, amongst it all, standing out in a big white hoodie, him.

Doyoung.

Sicheng takes one deep breath through his mouth because he needs the courage, and wills his feet to move.

The chair makes a loud noise when he moves it, and it’s only then when he’s noticed.

The older doesn’t say anything, but his red lips (so bright against the pale of his skin) stretch into a smile. ‘Welcome back’, it says; ‘I missed you’, ‘I was worried for you’, Sicheng wishes it said. 

(Maybe it  _ does  _ actually say that).

Sicheng just replies with a nod, sits down... And realizes he hadn’t picked a book yet. He wants to groan and smash his head on the table, as he feels a slight embarrassed heat warming up his cheeks, and practically runs to the Chinese section. 

It's okay, he tries to convince himself, it's okay, it isn't a big deal.

God, how can he be so clumsy? The one day he felt extra on edge, the very one day he needs to be in complete control, he makes a fool of himself within the first thirty seconds of meeting him.

His eyes close tight and he leans on the wall, but there's a smile in his lips as he groans against it. He missed seeing that face. His stomach flutters, but just a teeny tiny bit.

‘You’re too dramatic’, he listens to Jaehyun say in his head, and unwillingly agrees.  

His finger caress every cover on the fourth shelf, mindleslly, because he still wonders just what the hell he will say. Just a straight up ‘I like you’? No, too direct. He wouldn’t be able to, anyway. His friend, Yukhei (who is a hopeless romantic), would tell him to make him translate a lovey-dovey phrase from a book and hope he’d get the hint. Damn it, he should have thought of this before hand.

“You’re too dramatic.”, he hears, but this time in Chinese.

Sicheng’s eyes open like plates, and he lifts his forehead from the shelf. 

The guy with the purple hair.

“I’ve seen how you look at him. Just tell him.”, he says, without even looking at Sicheng, much more worried in finding a book. Once he find it, he takes it out with a single finger.

Sicheng only gulps, feeling like a deer in a headlight.

The guy throws one last look at him, after fanning the bright white pages of the book, “He looks at you just the same, anyway.”

And he leaves.

Sicheng just picks a random book and walks back, still a bit stunned, and kind of embarrassed. Does be really need the encouragement of  _ two  _ different people for whatever mess his one-sided love life was?

He lets himself fall on the chair, and... He smiles. There’s a page with a grid perfectly done in the middle of the two seats. 

His confidence is boosted slightly.

The younger thanks, silently, as he sees he hadn’t picked anything funny like a lecture book, or a dictionary, and opens the first page. 

There’s a weird anticipation sensation hanging between them, he feels, like Christmas lights twisted around them; and it somehow feels a lot like the moment between the intermittences, when that little anxiety builds up as you wait for them to light up again, but much, much,  _ much _ longer. You know something has to happen, but  _ when _ ?

It takes him a few pages of fake reading while collecting his thoughts until he realizes he has to start playing. He picks the page, rummages his backpack for a pen, and stares at the grid, deciding where to place his circle.

_ ‘Draw a heart’ _

His other friend, Renjun. He’d say that. 

_ ‘If you can’t say it out loud, show it. Draw a heart.’ _

Even being the youngest amongst his friends, he was always the smartest one.

For some reason, his heartbeat starts accelerating, and the tip of his pen doubts, standing still on the paper. 

He can’t be possibly considering it. Absolutely no. Absolutely.

 

Sicheng draws a heart.

 

Before he can regret it (he couldn’t anyway, what could he do to hide the page, eat it?) he puts it back in the middle, and his face is suddenly hidden from the world once again, between the safety of the pages.

The only thing he can hear is the sound of his heart beating in his ears. There’s an awful silence in the library, it feels even worse than usual, and the constant bombing inside him grows higher and higher.

He hears Doyoung take the paper.

He doesn’t want to look. Does he want to look? Maybe he can peek a little... No. no he can’t. Absolutely no. Absolutely.

There’s sounds of a paper sheet being moved around, touched.

And after some seconds, Sicheng gets brave enough to look at his side.

Big confused eyes, frowny eyebrows and a slight red tinting pale ears. His long hands are pinching the paper from both sides, and if Sicheng wasn’t so stressed he could explode, he’d think he looks slightly elegant.

Finally, the older’s head turns towards him.

“Wha-...?”

But he doesn’t let him finish, because in a quick movement, he takes the paper back in his hands, and his pen is drawing other two hears. That’s a row of three. And he scratches it. 

He puts it back in front of Doyoung, and bites his lip, anxious, worried, hopeful and expectantly.

Doyoung looks at the paper, then at him, and his eyes fall on the paper again, and he is now a beautiful shade of red.

“I-I like you.”

He can't recognize his own voice, stuttery and nervous.

“Please go out with me.”

Some seconds of silence go by. Sicheng feels like his heart is going to burst, but at the same time, he feels so light. So unburdened. He wishes he could marvel in the sensation, but he’s too busy trying to maintain the little hope he has, that is slipping through his fingers like sand, because, oh god, can’t he at least say something?

Finally, Doyoung takes his pen and writes. The paper is now in front of Sicheng.

‘ _ do you like ice-cream?’ _

Sicheng’s eyebrow twist, and he can’t help to whisper his answer, instead, “Yes...?”

 

“There’s... Um. I’m Doyoung.”, Sicheng hears the sound of a chair moving next to him, and he sees him standing up, and offering his hand for a handshake. Sicheng takes it, stunned, “Hi.”, he says, and it’s just as awkward as it is adorable. The younger is relieved, because he feels just as awkward. “There’s a new ice-cream parlor just a few streets from here. And- Uhm. I actually don’t have a lot to do left, um, so-...”

“I’m Sicheng.”, he says, and with a bravery he doesn’t know he has, he threads his fingers slowly between his thin hand. 

It's as soft as he imagined. 

Sicheng faces him, and he gets to inspect his face from the front, from this close, for the first time. His eyes look even prettier like this, surrounded by blush red. He wonders what be thinks of his own red.

“And, yes.”

They pick their things in a second and, this time, it’s Doyoung who grabs his hand. Sicheng feels like he’s walking in automatic, in a dream. Before leaving, he catches a flash of purple, and the guy smirks at him, hiding a thumbs up from behind his book.

  
  


Jaehyun’s phone bings, and he picks it up, pausing his videogame first.

_ ‘i’ll be home late _ ’

He frowns, weirded out. Sicheng is known for never arriving later than nine.

‘ _ why _ ?’

He sees the ‘read’ mark, and waits a few seconds until he gets a reply. It’s a picture of the back of a guy in a white hoodie ordering something over a counter. 

 

_ ‘i’m on a date :)’ _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading :')))) if u want to yell at me to give u ur money back for wasting your time my twitter is @pikwanchu
> 
> btw can you guess who the purple haired guy in the library was?  
> hint1: hes not from nct  
> hint2: obviously hes chinese


End file.
